As the nearly full moon lifted above the island, tinting the ruined barrow with ghostly light, Slayer and I continued battling. Now I braced the top of the staff against my hip, trying to hold it out like a spear. But my shoulder grew steadily weaker. Finally, with a wrenching moan, I let the staff drop. Now I had only one weapon, and one good arm.
Through the rest of the night we fought, stiff from our wounds as well as the cold. Slayer’s swings grew sloppier—he was as tired as I. He stumbled often, and his torn leggings flapped whenever he moved. Yet his drive to kill me never slackened. He pressed the attack for hour after hour.
My night vision, better than his, gave me a slight advantage. I could see weapons better, and anticipate moves an instant faster. Still, that hardly made up for having only one blade to his two. I was constantly fighting off his blows, rarely striking ones of my own. How I longed to use my magic against him!
When the moon finally dropped behind the horizon, I was barely able to stand. Slowly, the eastern sky began to lighten. Swaths of crimson and scarlet rose into the sky, pushing back the darkness. The sea itself looked frothy red, like a wicked brew on the boil.
Slashing his blades, the warrior backed me down the mound, right to the edge of a cliff. Though it wasn’t the one I had climbed, it was just as steep. Behind me and far below, I could hear the surf pounding against the wall of rock. To plunge over that edge would surely mean death—a fact he clearly understood.
One of his blades whizzed over my head, screaming in the air. Dodging, I tripped on a broken harp protruding from the debris. Tumbling on my side, I dropped my sword and skidded almost to the edge. My fingers clawed the dirt, trying to hold myself back. At the last fraction of a second, I managed to stop myself.
I started to sit up, when a sword point jabbed at my chest. Slayer stood over me, swaying from exhaustion, his skull mask streaked with scarlet from the dawning sun. “So,” he rasped, “time to kill . . . a runt wizard.” He panted hoarsely, then added, “I’ve waited a very . . . long time for this.”
Despite the sword poking my ribs, I tried to sit erect. “Who are you? What have I ever done to you?”
“More than you can imagine,” came the gruff reply.
I caught my breath. For the voice—yes, without doubt, the voice—rang so familiar that I could almost place it. Almost, but not quite.
“I don’t believe you,” I shot back.
From the warrior’s throat came a long, low growl. “Well then, you whelp, maybe you’ll believe this.”
Keeping one sword at my chest, he lifted the other to the chin of his skull mask. With a flick, he threw the whole mask off his head. He glared at me, his gray eyes aflame.
Dinatius. I slumped back to the ground in shock. The same Dinatius who tried, long ago, to kill both my mother and me. The same Dinatius who perished, or so I’d thought, in the terrible blaze I brought down on us both. I cringed at the memory: Dinatius trapped, his brawny arms crushed under the weight of a tree, shrieking in agony as his skin and muscles burned. That blaze cost me my eyes—and Dinatius, I now realized, his arms. Great seasons!
“You recognize me, then? I’m glad. You should know who finally vanquished you.” He rubbed the two blades together, as if readying himself for a feast. “Dinatius is your conqueror! I, and my powerful friend.”
“Friend?” I sputtered. The wind off the sea whistled, blowing cold against my back. “Who is that?”
He started to pace back and forth in front of me, like a hungry wolf whose prey was cornered at last. All the while, his eyes gleamed in triumph and he kept jabbing the sword point at my chest. “Can’t you guess, whelp? Or does he need to stand here in the shape of a wild boar?”
I blanched. Rhita Gawr! Just as I feared, he must have wanted to distract me from rousing the people of Fincayra. So he recruited the help of Dinatius, giving him arms of deadly steel, and the power to turn my own magic against me. No doubt Rhita Gawr also thought of the idea of attacking children. He had trapped me—and even worse, the instrument of the trap was my own creation! If I hadn’t harmed Dinatius so badly in that fit of rage long ago, he’d never have joined with Rhita Gawr. Now many more lives, and the life of my homeland itself, would be lost.
“Dinatius,” I beseeched, “don’t you see how Rhita Gawr has used you for his pawn? He gave you swords, not real arms as you had before, so you could serve him. All he offered was—”
“Revenge!” roared my adversary, so loud that his voice could have shaken the far coastline across the channel. “He offered that, whelp, and I took it.” His cheeks, covered with brown stubble, flushed. At the same time his pacing accelerated—as did his jabs, which pushed me almost over the edge of the cliff. “None of your clever words for me, you beggar’s plague.”
“I just want you to understand! It was a terrible thing I did to you. Terrible! And I’ve long regretted it. But now we must—”
“Now we must settle things!” he roared, pacing even faster. He strode from the lip of the cliff on one side of me, over to the other side. “You will die for what you did, runt wizard. Right now.”
With that, he bellowed angrily and thrust his blade at my heart, throwing all his weight into the assault. At the same instant, the rock directly beneath him, lining the edge of the cliff, crumbled. I felt his weapon nick my skin, then slash upward as he flailed wildly. His bellow turned into a shriek as he plunged downward in a jumble of rock and flying dirt.
Finally, the choking cloud of soot cleared. I saw that the rock slide had left a chute, steep but passable, down to the shoreline—a stretch of sand much slimmer than the cove where I’d left Elen and the others. Below me, half buried under all the debris, lay Dinatius. Swiftly, I grabbed my sword and slid down on my backside, braking myself with my boots. More dirt sprayed into the air, pelting my face. Finally, I reached the bottom and scrambled over to him.
I glowered at him, much as he’d done at me. Judging from the contorted position of his legs, they were both broken. A heavy slab of rock lay on his ribs, and blood flowed from a gash on his forehead. Still, he looked at me with undiminished wrath, and spat some dirt at my feet. One of his bladed arms slashed the air, barely missing my wounded shoulder.
I lifted my sword. The blade flashed in the morning light. Even above the hammering surf all around us, I could hear the pounding of my temples. Here he lay, my great tormentor! Servant of Rhita Gawr! Only moments ago, he tried to kill me. Just as he had killed that poor girl Ellyrianna. And would do to many others if he had the chance.
A wave crashed against the shore, spraying us both with sea froth and torn fronds of kelp. Blinking the salt from my eyes, I prepared to bring down my sword. Then, as a drop of seawater rolled down my cheek, touching my ridged scars, I hesitated, recalling the blaze that had burned us both. Maimed us both.
My hand squeezed the hilt. This was it, my chance to end it all. And yet . . . where indeed would it end?
“Come on, whelp,” he snarled. “Kill me if you can.”
I studied his twisted form. “Oh yes, I can,” I declared. “Easily.”
Slowly, I lowered my sword and slid it into the scabbard. “But I won’t.”
Dinatius glared at me in disbelief. “None of your games, runt.”
“It’s no game,” I answered calmly, feeling a fresh wind off the sea. I cast a glance at the cliff behind me, and the ruined mound above, thinking of all the bitterness and suffering that this place represented. Suffering fostered by my own ancestors.
I turned back to Dinatius. To him, to the island itself, and to the roaring sea that surrounded us, I proclaimed: “No, I won’t slay you. Too much blood has stained this soil already.”
All at once, the sand under my boots began to tremble. I heard a distant thunder, which gathered steadily, swelling into a deafening rumble. The whole island shook, knocking me to my knees on the sand. At the same time, the surrounding surf grew strangely calm, as if awaiting something. All the way across the channel to the opposite shore, the
waves ceased rolling, and the water became as still as a vast sheet of ice.
The island, though, continued to shake—so violently my legs slid out from under me. Several chunks of rock broke loose from the cliff, bounced over the sand, and splashed beside me in the shallows. It was all I could do to try to keep my head up. Dinatius, for his part, slashed at the ground with his free arm, moaning painfully, until he finally fell limp.
A moment later, the quaking slowed dramatically, while the rumble grew much quieter. A brisk wind kicked up, ruffling my torn tunic. Shakily, I managed to stand, though my boots continued to vibrate. Bewildered as to what was happening, I turned again out to sea. What I saw nearly made my legs buckle again.
The island was moving! It was sliding across the sea, like a lone leaf blowing across a tarn. Wind rushed against my face, whistling in my ears. A thin stream of water surged along the shoreline, racing past us, but beyond its edge the ocean remained calm. Meanwhile, Fincayra’s western shore, lined with dark cliffs identical to the one rising above us now, was drawing swiftly nearer.
For a timeless moment I gaped at the sight. The Forgotten Island was returning to the mainland! The opposite shore would collide with the very place where Dinatius and I were now. And, at this speed, it would happen in just a few more minutes.
I rushed over to the unconscious warrior and braced my good shoulder against the rock on his chest. Digging my feet into the quaking sand, I heaved with all my remaining strength. The slab slid off, rolling to a stop. I glanced at the channel, which was narrowing rapidly.
I kneeled by Dinatius’ side. Where the strength came from, I don’t know, but I somehow managed to lift him onto my back. Staggering under his weight, as well as the ongoing vibrations, I carried him to the chute that had opened after his fall. Steep as it was, I crawled slowly up it, trying all the while to balance his limp body. My knees and thighs ached; my wounded arm felt like a dead branch. Yet I persisted—and clawed my way higher.
Huffing from exhaustion, I finally reached the top. I rolled on my side, pitching off my cargo. For several seconds, I lay on the shaking ground, too weak to move. Suddenly, a grinding crunch erupted, drowning out all other sounds. At the same instant, I was hurled back toward the chute I had just climbed. I threw my arms over my face, sure I was going to plunge back over the cliff.
But there was no cliff. In the eerie silence that had descended, I lowered my arms, and saw the truth. The stretch of shoreline where we had been only moments before had vanished. So had the channel dividing the lands.
Weakly, I stood. The shorelines had merged! Not seamlessly, of course. Rock heaps and narrow chasms remained, marking the border. Still, there could be no doubt of what had occurred. This place was now a promontory, jutting out to sea. The banished island had rejoined Fincayra at last.
If land long forgotten returns to its shore. The line from Fin’s ballad, so puzzling when Cairpré recited it, now held meaning.
How, though, had it happened? I gazed up at the mound, littered with the remains of its treasures. Unsteadily, I clambered up the slope, my boots sinking into the soil. The glitter of golden leaves caught my attention, and I worked my way over to the wreath of mistletoe. I peered inside its circle, where I had planted the pulsing seed, hoping to see some sign of change. Nothing but bare soil.
Still puzzling over what had caused the island to move, my gaze shifted to the toppled statue, whose wings had been shattered so long ago. And I remembered Dagda’s final words: Only if, in times to come, thy people shall voyage here, and truly learn what thou hast wrought, may this land be freed at last from its curse . . . And those voyagers shall never leave this isle again.
As the words echoed in my mind, I tramped back down to Dinatius, his body broken but alive. Was it possible that, by sparing his life, I had shown that I’d learned the truth of the winged people’s mistakes? And that my gesture of mercy had been enough to end this island’s curse of separation? Only Dagda himself knew the answer to that. In any case, his words had indeed proved true. For when it came time to leave this place, I wouldn’t be leaving an island at all, but a lost promontory that had finally come home.
29: A STAR WITHIN A CIRCLE
The sun rose higher, sparkling on the cracked stones, broken weapons, and half-buried jewelry strewn across the mound. To the west, golden-tipped waves formed roving lines that merged, at last, with the distant wall of mist, which in turn merged with the azure sky. Surf pounded and hissed at the base of the cliffs, which stood sheer and black but for the outcroppings that ran down them like thick, yellowish cream. But now those cliffs ringed the mound on just three sides. To the east I saw no more sea, just brown fields rising into hills spackled with snow.
At my feet lay the body of Dinatius. He may have been broken and unconscious, yet he remained a danger to us all. I’d spared his life, yes. But I wasn’t about to leave him any more opportunities for harm.
I spied a length of red cord, fitted with silver tassels on each end, draped over a sarsen stone. Just the thing! Quickly, I wrapped it around the warrior’s body, taking extra care to press the flats of his blades tight against his sides. Weak from exhaustion and loss of blood, it strained me just to roll him over to secure the knots. I couldn’t possibly lift him again; keeping on my feet was difficult enough. Moments later, he was bound. Though I’d have to watch him to make sure he didn’t cut through the cord, it was the best I could do.
A sudden fear gripped me. Were Elen and the others all right? Even if their cove hadn’t collided with the shore, the impact could have toppled a cliff wall. Children could have been injured—or worse. Anxiously, I scanned the area, searching for the lip of rock that protruded above their beach.
Then I saw where it should have been. The whole section had collapsed, leaving a deep gouge at the edge of the mound. Without even pausing to grab my staff, I stumbled toward the spot. My foot caught on the handle of a dagger and I crumpled, rolling in the loose soil. The gash in my shoulder, blackened with dirt, ached painfully.
Panting, I pushed myself to my feet—when a small, curly head poked above the edge. Lleu! He clambered up the slope, followed by my mother, whose blue robe was splattered with sand. A few seconds later, all three of us embraced, swaying in the wind off the water.
In time, Lleu’s arms released me. He fingered the scab on the side of his head as he gazed in awe at the scattered treasures surrounding us—and at the motionless body of his assailant. Meanwhile, Elen’s sapphire eyes probed my face, then turned to my wounded shoulder.
“This is deep, Merlin.” She tried to clean the gash, using her seawater-soaked sleeve. “Kneel down so I can try to mend you. Oh, what I’d give for a sprig of lemon balm!”
“No, Mother. Clean it, please, but that’s all. I’ve—ehh! that hurts—got to go . . .”
“You’re going nowhere, my son, until I’ve dressed this. Why look, it’s bleeding again.” She chewed her lip. “And then you’ll need some rest.”
“Can’t.” Weakly, I shook my head. “Just two days left before the battle! That’s barely enough time, even if I run like a deer.”
“How can you even talk about running?”
With the firm touch of a practiced healer, she pressed down on my good shoulder. My weakened legs buckled, and I collapsed to my knees on the dirt. Reluctantly, I gave in, telling myself I’d leave right after she finished. Even as she coaxed me to lie flat on my back, she peppered me with questions about the ruins, the island, and of course, Dinatius. I did my best to answer, though not before she assured me that the rock slide above the cove, which had opened the passageway for Lleu and herself, had injured no one.
I remember hearing her ask Lleu to fetch some moist kelp and a flask of seawater. I remember listening to the incessant pounding of waves, slamming constantly into the cliffs. And I remember glimpsing the shape of a lone kittiwake, swooping in the early morning light. Then I lost consciousness.
When I awoke, I felt another jolt of fear. Time was running
out! To my relief, the sun’s position showed it was only mid-morning. I hadn’t lost more than an hour.
I sat up, rustling the warm yellow vest I was wearing. The astral vest! My mother must have put it on me again. I worked my shoulder—stiff, but much stronger than before. And I felt hungry, more hungry than I’d felt in days.
“So, my son, you’ve awakened.”
Seeing Elen approaching, her robe fluttering, I pushed myself to my feet. Lleu strode behind her, carrying something on a flat piece of driftwood. “I’m feeling much better,” I announced. “Thanks to you.”
She nodded gladly, though her brow remained lined with worry. “Here, we brought you something to eat.” From the driftwood she took a rolled kelp frond, stuffed thick with something juicy. “Mussels and sea grass,” she explained. “The children have been living off it.”
Lleu grunted. “Looks like nose drippings, don’t it? But it tastes passable.”
Without hesitation, I took a large bite of the roll. Tangy flavors of the sea filled my mouth, though the mussels required a great deal of chewing. Fortunately, Lleu offered me another kelp frond, this one holding a melting piece of ice, which I could suck to wash down the mouthful. For several minutes, I ate greedily. All the while, my mother watched me with concern.
“How are the children?” I asked through my last mouthful.
Her expression brightened. “They are, well, children. And very good at it! They’re all well, though a few are sneezing more than I’d like.”
“And Lleu, how about you?”
“Me?” Gingerly, he touched his scab. “I’m all right. Sleepin’ better.”
“So much better, it’s hard to believe.” Elen tousled his curls. “He’s made of strong stuff, this boy.”
“Very strong,” I agreed.